Chapter Text
Shane Hollander had not attended the annual courting festival since he was eighteen. This was not an oversight, but a deliberate lifestyle choice. A deeply considered one.
There were, in fact, several excellent reasons for it.
The first being the music.
Not all music, obviously. He wasn't a philistine.
He liked music perfectly well when it was played at a reasonable volume, by a reasonable number of musicians, for a reasonable length of time, preferably somewhere he could leave without having to swim through three hundred other bodies.
The courting festival did not believe in reasonable music. The courting festival believed in romantic music, and there was a distinct difference.
Romantic music, apparently, had to be loud enough to vibrate through Shane's rib cage. It had to involve at least six shell drums, three glass flutes, a stringed instrument Shane had never been able to identify, and one man whose sole contribution seemed to be making increasingly elaborate noises with his throat.
The music also had no respect for personal space, it followed you.
There was music at breakfast, music at midday, and music at sunset. There was music during the evening meal.Music when someone made a particularly impressive courting gesture. Music when someone accepted a courting gesture. Even music when someone rejected a courting gesture.
Once, memorably, there had been music because two merfolk had gotten engaged.
Shane had never understood that one.
They were already engaged. Why were they being rewarded with more music?
And then there was the singing.
Shane had nothing against singing in principle, people were absolutely allowed to sing… In private. In their own grottoes, behind closed doors, and at a volume that did not require Shane to hear every note whether he wanted to or not.
The festival disagreed.
Every evening, someone inevitably decided that the best way to demonstrate their romantic intentions was to sing a ballad directly at the person they were courting.This was apparently considered charming.
However, Shane considered it a hostage situation.
There was no escape.
Once the song started, everyone had to stop what they were doing and watch. The singer sang, the intended recipient blushed, their friends squealed. Someone inevitably said, "Aww." and then the entire reef applauded.
Shane had always found the whole process deeply embarrassing for everyone involved, including him. Especially him. Because there was nothing Shane could think of that would make him want to be publicly serenaded.
If someone ever sang at him, he suspected his first response would be to check for signs of head trauma.
And the volume wasn't even the worst part. No, it was the unpredictability of it all.
The music could change without warning.
A quiet melody might suddenly become a thunderous drumbeat because someone had decided to make an entrance. A gentle flute piece could be interrupted by a chorus of voices because a courting pair had decided to exchange vows. A perfectly tolerable instrumental could abruptly turn into dancing music. Dancing music!
Which led directly to the second reason Shane hated the festival—the dancing.
He hated dancing.
Not because he couldn't do it. He could, very well actually. Dancing was easy. There were instructions, and he understood instructions.
Sway.
Turn.
Glide.
Change direction.
Repeat.
He could follow a sequence perfectly well. However, the problem was that dancing at the courting festival wasn't actually about dancing. It was about being watched while dancing, which Shane found horrifying.
Also, the choreography changed every year.
There were apparently different dances for different stages of courtship. First interest, then mutual interest. Next came serious courtship followed by exclusive courtship. Lastly there was the intent to bond.
Shane had once asked Rose who had decided all of this, only to be told it was ancient tradition. He had then pointed out that something being old did not automatically make something sensible. He’d even brought it up to the elders, who had taken none too kindly to Shane’s distaste in the mating dances.
Rose had practically pulled him away by his fins to stop him from spiralling into further, berating him the entire way about badgering the elders. Shane had informed her that he hadn't been badgering anyone, he had merely been talking about history..
Shane’s third reason was the crowds.
Shane had no objection to other merfolk existing, obviously, seeing as he himself was one. Other mer were perfectly entitled to exist… Just somewhere else. Preferably several miles away from him. Only the eastern reef during courting week was the exact opposite of that.
Every available stretch of coral was occupied. Every current seemed to contain at least four merfolk moving in different directions.
There were children and parents and elders and courting couples everywhere. Merfolk who had come specifically to find mates. Merfolk who had already found mates and apparently wanted to watch everyone else suffer. There were friends and cousins and neighbors and strangers.
Strangers who somehow knew your name. Strangers who wanted to know whether you were courting anyone. Strangers who wanted to know why you weren't courting anyone. Strangers who wanted to introduce you to their cousin.
Out of all of them though, Shane particularly disliked the cousins. Someone always had a cousin.
"Have you met my cousin?"
No.
"I think you'd like my cousin."
Why?
"They're very quiet."
Shane had once looked at the merfolk in question and discovered they were standing on a rock loudly flirting with three people at once. He had politely declined.
The fourth reason was the touching.
Shane hated being touched by strangers. This was not complicated or mysterious, and was definitely not a personal failing. He simply did not enjoy having unfamiliar hands, tails, fins, shoulders, elbows, or jewelry pressed against him without warning.
The courting festival considered this a minor obstacle.
"Just be friendly," people said.
Shane had never understood why friendliness apparently required physical contact. A hand on the arm. A tail brushing his. Someone fixing his hair. Someone adjusting his necklace. Someone pulling him into a dance. Someone leaning against him while talking. Someone saying, "Don't be shy."
Shane wasn't shy. Not at all, he simply wanted people to stop touching him. There was a distinction.
The fifth reason was the flirting.
Shane disliked flirting almost as much as he disliked being expected to recognize it.
Flirting, in his experience, was an elaborate system of indirect communication designed specifically to ensure that nobody ever had to say what they actually meant.
Someone smiled.
Was that flirting?
Someone gave you a flower.
Was that flirting?
Someone asked you to dance.
Was that flirting?
Someone stared at you from across the reef for twenty minutes.
Was that flirting?
Apparently… Maybe… Sometimes?
Unless they were merely looking.
Which was even more confusing because were they looking because they thought you were interesting? Or because you had something on your face? Or because they liked your tail? Or because their friend had dared them?
There were rules. Shane loved rules… But these? He’d never quite grasped. So, eventually he stopped trying.
The sixth reason was the food.
The food was actually very good, which was part of the problem.
The courting festival had excellent food, and Shane resented being unable to criticize it on principle. There were spiced kelp cakes and sweet sea-plums. Roasted shellfish and pickled sea beans. Honeyed coral fruit and fresh bread from the southern colony.
And approximately seventeen different varieties of cake.
Shane liked cake, a lot.
However, he was not a fan of that the fact that the festival insisted on serving most of it in shapes that were supposed to represent love.
He had once been handed a heart-shaped pastry and had quickly asked whether there was a non-romantic version.
The vendor had stared at him like both his eyes had migrated to the same side of his head. Which was fine… He had a distant cousin whose eyes were the same side of his head. His mother had once mentioned about his family being distantly related to flounder.
Despite this, Shane had eaten it anyway.
Because cake, obviously.
The seventh reason was the gifts, followed by the public declaration, and then the matchmaking. The tenth was the fact that everyone seemed to believe that being twenty-three and unattached was some sort of medical emergency.
But the most important reason—the one Shane rarely talked about—was that he remembered exactly what happened the last time he'd gone, and he had no desire to repeat it. Once had been enough, more than.
Once had taught him that sometimes the person smiling at you wasn't interested. No, sometimes they were laughing. Sometimes you were the butt of a joke, and Shane had no intention of giving anyone the opportunity to make him the punchline twice.
He still had nightmares about the year he was eighteen, sometimes. Not nightmares, technically.
He was very particular about that distinction, and preferred calling them vivid, involuntary recollections.
Nightmares implied that he was asleep. Only what had happened at the courting festival unfortunately occurred while fully conscious.
The eleventh was the fact that everyone apparently thought it was perfectly normal to spend seven consecutive days asking strangers things like What are you looking for in a mate? and Would you like to see my grotto?
The twelfth was Rose, who had somehow managed to corner Shane between the western coral shelves and a display of ceremonial shells he had been observing.
“Oh, Shaney-poo!” A syrupy-sweet voice drifted toward him from behind.
Shane closed his eyes.
Of course.
He turned slowly, already knowing exactly what he was going to find.
Rose hovered a few feet away, wearing the sort of bright, innocent smile that had preceded every terrible idea she’d ever had.
“Rosebud,” he said flatly.
Her smile widened. “I have a favor to ask, Shaney.”
“No.”
She blinked. “I haven’t asked yet.”
“You called me Shaney-poo.”
“I did.” Rose floated closer, reaching out to idly touch one of the ceremonial shells Shane had been examining. She gave him a wide-eyed, thoroughly innocent look.
His eyes narrowed. “And you only call me Shaney-poo when you want something.”
Rose gasped. “That is completely untrue!”
“You called me Shaney-poo before you convinced me to help you move your entire bedroom.”
“Well, you have excellent upper-body strength.”
“And you called me Shaney-poo before you convinced me to sneak into the pearl gardens at midnight.”
“You wanted to see the moon lilies too!”
“Not more than I wanted to sleep.”
“They were beautiful.”
“They were flowers.”
“That glow in the dark in the dark, Shane!”
“So do certain deep-sea worms, and I don’t want to trespass to look at those, either.”
Rose ignored that. “Whatever, you had fun.”
“Rose,” Shane glares at her. “I got arrested because of you.”
Rose waves him off. “Only briefly.”
Shane snorts at that. “So, whatever you’re planning I want no part of.”
“Cmon, Shaney. I promise it’ll be fun.”
“For you.”
Rose’s smile turned positively angelic.
“Nevertheless,” she said, “I have a very small favor to ask.”
Shane heaved a sigh, placing the shell he’d been holding back on the shelf. “How small?”
Rose hesitated.
“Rose.”
“Like… medium small.”
“That is not a thing, Rose.” Shane turned and started swimming away. “Goodbye.”
“Shaney!”
“Nope.” He increased his pace.
“Shaney, wait!”
“No.”
“It’s a very reasonable favor, I swear!”
“That sentence has never once been true when you’ve said it.”
“It is this time!”
“Nope.”
“Shaney, please!”
He felt her grab the end of his tail.
Shane stopped dead.
Slowly, very slowly, he looked over his shoulder. “Let go.”
“But you’re leaving.” She pouted.
“That is generally what happens when someone says goodbye.”
Rose’s pout deepened.
Shane stared at her. She stared back.
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Make that face.”
“What face?”
“That one.”
Rose’s lower lip pushed out another fraction.
Shane closed his eyes. “Ugh, you bitch.”
Her pout immediately turned into a tiny, victorious smile.
Shane sighed. “What do you want?”
Rose brightened instantly, swimming up to link her arm through his. “I knew you loved me, Shaney.”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“Yet.”
Shane looked down at her, fixing her with a look of profound suspicion. “Tell me.”
“The courting festival is coming up—“
“Absolutely not.”
“I haven’t finished.”
“You don’t need to.”
“The eastern reef is hosting this year.”
“The answer is no, Rose.”
“But—”
“No.”
“It’s the first one in five years we’ve hosted—”
“And?”
Rose stared at him. “You don’t care?”
“I care deeply.” Her eyebrows lifted. “So much so that I will not be in attendance.”
Rose huffed, tugging him gently along by the arm. “It’s going to be so beautiful.”
“I’m sure.”
“The entire reef will be decorated.”
“Wonderful.”
“There’ll be music.”
“Tragic.”
“Food.”
“Tempting.”
“Dancing.”
“Pass.”
“Courtship displays.”
“Even worse.”
Rose groaned. “You are impossible.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Everyone is going.”
“That sounds like an even more compelling reason for me to stay home.”
“Shane.”
He glanced down at her. “What?”
“You can’t avoid the festival forever.”
“I can certainly try.”
“You’ve already avoided it for five years.”
“Why break a perfect record now?”
Rose rolled her eyes. “Please?”
“No.”
“Pretty please?” She batted her long lashes at him.
“No.”
“Shaney.” Her bottom lip poked out once more.
“No.”
She gave his arm another little tug. “Pleeeeease.”
He sighed. “Why do you even want me there?”
Rose’s expression softened. “Because I want my best friend with me.”
Shane looked away.
Rose squeezed his arm. “You don’t have to dance. You don’t have to court anyone. You don’t even have to talk to anyone. Just… come with me.”
Shane was quiet for a moment, then asked suspiciously, “How long?”
Rose’s face brightened once more.
Shane immediately regretted asking.
“The whole week?”
He stared at her. “Rose.”
“Six days?” She countered.
“Rose.”
“Five?”
He tugged his arm out of hers. “I’m leaving, for real this time.”
She caught his wrist before he could turn away.
“Okay! Okay. Fine. Two nights.”
Shane narrowed his eyes.
“Just the opening ceremonies and the mate dance.”
“You realize you just said the two things I least want to attend.”
Rose winced. “Fair.”
“The mate dance, Rose? Really?”
“It’s tradition.”
“It’s public humiliation.”
“It’s romantic.”
“For other people, maybe.”
She leaned against his shoulder with a dramatic sigh.
“Shaney.”
“Rose.”
“Please.” He looked at her. “You know I hate that festival.”
Her smile faltered. “I know.”
“And you know I have a very legitimate reason why.”
She nodded. “I do.”
“Then why are you asking?”
Rose was quiet for a long moment before answering.
“Because I don’t think Dallas deserves to keep taking things from you.”
Shane’s jaw tightened. “He already did.”
“No.” She shook her head. “He embarrassed you when you were eighteen. That’s on him.”
Shane looked away.
“But every festival you’ve skipped since then?” She squeezed his arm. “That’s not Dallas anymore, Shaney. That’s you letting him keep winning.”
Silence settled between them. Shane hated it when she made sense.
Rose softened her voice. “I’m not asking you to dance or for you to court anyone. I know better than that, although I wish you would. You deserve happiness.”
Shane said nothing.
“I’m just asking you to spend two nights with your best friend.”
“Two?”
Rose perked up instantly. “Yes!”
Shane pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t agreeing.”
“Mhmmm.”
“I’m not. I’m just gathering information.”
“Sure.”
Shane groaned. “You’re exhausting.”
Rose beamed. “Does that mean it’s a yes now?”
“It’s a ‘I’m considering not swimming away.’”
“I can work with that.”